


As We Go

by ashandcas (ashriddle4)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel Plays the Piano, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2014-05-10
Packaged: 2018-01-24 06:09:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1594457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashriddle4/pseuds/ashandcas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Cas struggles through becoming human, he realizes the depth and nature of his feelings for Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As We Go

He puts his hand on the Impala’s window, wishing for heat, but instead feels ice form from the cold, and watches as the snow drifts by outside. Seeing nothing but white and hearing nothing but whispers from the driver’s seat,

“It’s all right. It’s all right, man. You’re gonna be fine.”

Cas made his choice, that much he knows. This should be easy, should be simple and sweet, but instead he’s falling and feeling the weight pull him down. _How do feet walk when they’re gravity-bound?_ And Dean’s voice plays over and over like a drum in his head.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I know it’s my fault.”

_I don’t blame you, could never blame you._ That’s what Cas should say, but instead he says nothing at all.

Then it’s a trip to Walmart for a pair of new boots, a couple of jeans and some button down shirts. There’s toothpaste, deodorant, soap, razors, _is there something else I forgot?_ And somewhere in the shampoo aisle, it becomes too much. _I don’t know what to do._

_Head spinning, he sinks down to the floor._

A hand on his shoulder.

“It’s gonna be fine, man. Let me help you.”

He’s got knives in his hand and the cold steel of a gun. It’s not as easy as it was before, but it’s not hard to learn. These bones and these muscles, this skin, has always been built for this. For fighting. So it’s target practice till noon and then

“Cas, you’re getting’ good.”

And burgers and beer and,

“That joke’s a bit dirty, don’t you think, Dean?”

“That’s why it’s funny, Sam.”

Cas finds an old vinyl record between a couple of books and asks Dean how to work the record machine,

“Like this, man. Make sure not to scratch it.”

And they stand back and listen to a decades old voice sing the words.

“Que sera, que sera.

Whatever will be, will be.”

_Whatever will be, will be._

Cas finds an old piano in a small dusty room. He hits the keys and he’s terrible too, but for some reason he just won’t quit. It starts like this,

“Cas, can you please stop that racket? I’m losing my mind.”

And it turns into

“Cas, can you play it again? Come on, just one more time.”

It’s a flutter of lashes Cas never noticed before. A heat in his palms and breath in his throat that can’t seem to find it’s way out. It’s an unexpected brush of the hand. Too close. Too close. Too close.

“I’ve gotta go.”

He’s not sure which one of them said it.

A heart runs down the back of his neck, traces like hot water around the curves of his spine. It beats in his heart, a dizzy blood rush, and it only happens some of the time. When he smells whiskey, sweat, leather, apple pie. When he hears that gravely voice groan on the other side of the wall, when it’s half past midnight.

_Sighs, and_ “yes, yes,” and he thinks, maybe, one time, his name.

On a late night when Sam is out of the bunker, Cas plays the piano and Dean sits down by his side.

“I like that song, but play my favorite one, please.”

“I will if you answer a question for me.”

“What’s that, Cas?”

“What’s it like to kiss someone?”

A pause. “What about Meg?”

“What’s it like to kiss someone you love?”

Another pause. “Cas, will you play me my song?”

_So he does._

They go out on a hunt, just a simple ghost case, but Dean has a close call anyway. The fear that if something went wrong Cas couldn’t save him screams in his head until the words find their way out his lips,

“I thought I lost you. Can’t lose you. Can’t lose.”

“I’m fine. I’m right here, man. I’m fine.”

Dean’s hand on his face, pinky finger at the edge of his lips. The taste of blood and sweat. Oxygen one million miles away, Cas tilts his head and leans closer to lips, but then Sam walks in.

The sun’s starting to fall and Cas goes for a walk outside. Dean’s popped the hood of the Impala and his hands are inside. His red flannel shirt is pushed up to his elbows, his forearms and hands are painted in grease and dirt. A line of black runs from his nose to his chin. Sweat drips from the curve of his bottom lip. A hand runs through his hair as he turns toward Cas,

“Hey, buddy, what you looking at?”

_You. Always you. I’m looking at you._

“A bird.”

“A bird?”

“Yeah, a bird.”

Cas is eating alone in the kitchen, when Sam walks in. Sam gets himself a bottle of beer and sits down across the table. He waits a moment, then takes a deep breath.

“You’ve got to tell him.”

“Tell him what?”

“How you feel.”

_I don’t know what you mean._ That’s what he should say, but instead he says,“How?”

Sam smiles. “I don’t know. Maybe play him his song.”

About a week later, it’s,

“Dean, can you come here?”

“Yeah, man. What can I do for you?”

Cas pats the empty half of the piano bench. “Sit down.”

“Okay.”

“I wrote a song.”

A half-smile. “What’s it about?”

“Just listen.”

There’s no words, but he hopes Dean knows what the notes and the chords and the melody, what they’re all singing about. When he hits the last key, timidly he turns to Dean.

Dewy droplets sit between Dean’s sand-colored lashes and a sharp breath pulls in between his lips. “It’s about us.”

Cas nods.

Hot fingers touch under his chin, pull Cas’s face forward, close, close, closer until it’s soft and dry and gentle. Lips against lips.

So that’s what it’s like to kiss someone you love.

“I’m not sure how to do this.”

Dean smiles. “We’ll make it up as we go.”

 

 

 

 


End file.
